


Lonely Hearts Club

by transpapyrus



Category: Red Dwarf (UK TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Identity Reveal, Love Letters, M/M, Pre-Season/Series 01, Why are there so many Franks in this show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transpapyrus/pseuds/transpapyrus
Summary: Whoever says that anonymous love letters are romantic is either a liar, or has never met Arnold Rimmer and Dave Lister.
Relationships: Dave Lister/Arnold Rimmer
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34





	1. Good Morning, Good Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pre-canon AU based loosely on the musical romcom She Loves Me. All similarities are 100% intentional. Thanks to Laney for the constant inspiration. Enjoy!

There were a few upsides to working on a huge mining ship like Red Dwarf. Not a lot, of course. It was big, and dirty, and couldn’t seem to retain heat. There was no fun adventuring; in fact, you were lucky if you even managed to get off the ship to do any actual mining. Not because it was enjoyable, or exciting, or even by any terms “safe”. It’s just that it was a change from the monotony of the day-to-day operations of an otherwise boring ship life. But, the upsides. For one thing, Red Dwarf was the size of a small city, which isn’t particularly relevant except that with the discrepancy between crew size and vessel size, there was lots of room for recreational activities. So, in addition to the crew’s normal duties, there were five gyms, two cinemas, ten disco halls, and dozens of meeting rooms for the various social clubs. In that respect, it could often seem like Red Dwarf was not a mining ship at all, but rather a luxury cruiseliner.

But it was not.

In the end, it was still the hub of the greatest capitalist conglomerate in space, with everything that came with it. But that doesn’t mean there was no room for a little drama, a little humor, and a little romance along the way.

Our story opens on a day much like any other.

Rimmer, just returning from his morning run, entered the sleeping quarters sweating and breathing hard. Lister didn’t look up from where he sat at the table, intently focused on something. Normally, Rimmer wouldn’t care what he did. But from the looks of it, Lister was reading something, and frankly, he wasn’t even aware Lister  _ could _ read. If nothing else, that was enough to catch his attention. So he stalled, hovering behind his roommate, and peered down over his shoulder.

“Lister, what is that you have there?” Lister, feeling the breeze from Rimmer’s nostrils on the back of his neck, frowned and folded the piece of paper in his hands, stuffing it into an envelope and licking it shut.

“It’s a letter,” he said. “Why, haven’t you ever seen one before?”

Rimmer rolled his eyes. “Of course I have.”

“Yeah, from your mum.” Lister grinned and stood up. “I see the kind of mail you get.”

Rimmer, barely containing his annoyance, grabbed Lister’s jacket and threw it at him. “You’re going to be late for your shift.”

Lister folded his arms, unimpressed. “I leave when you leave, Rimmer, we’re going to the same place.” 

Rimmer, taking his time at the sink, simply shook his head. “Nonsense. As the head of Z-Shift,  _ I _ am allowed to walk in right on time. You, however, have to arrive early to get the trolly. Besides, I need to prepare today’s roster.”

“You were up all night preparing it!”

“Yes, and I need to make sure we’ve gotten no new work requests since I finished.” He turned from the mirror. “Now run along, or I’ll put you on report. Imagine that — the first person to be put on report while off-duty. Believe me, if anyone could accomplish that, it would be you, Lister.” he resumed preening himself in the mirror, and Lister yawned, burped, and  _ finally _ stood up, tugging on his jacket and shoving the letter into his pocket. 

“Seeya,” he said, giving a mock salute, a poor recreation of Rimmer’s own. “Don’t be late!” He wagged his finger at him, laughing on the way out.

As soon as he was gone, Rimmer hurried over to his bunk. He pulled a box from underneath, retrieving five different colored pens and placing them nearly in his breath pocket. Beneath the pens was his diary, report book, and a pile of small envelopes with a postbox number written in large, loopy handwriting across the front. Rimmer hesitated, then cleared his throat and grabbed the report book. Eyes still lingering inside, the tiniest of smiles spread across his face as he closed the lid and replaced the box. 

Oh yes, today would be a good day. Even Lister couldn’t possibly ruin his spirits now.

Naturally, Rimmer never should’ve put the thought out into the world. David Lister was the sort of person with an ability to drive anyone to brink of insanity simply by existing. If you were to combine his grating presence with his incompetence at his job, his lack of focus, and his off-pitch singing, it would be the equivalent of eating a stale and moldy vindaloo — just fine for Lister, but near deadly for anyone else. Suffice to say, Z-Shift began at zero, and was likely to only go down from there. 

“Good morning, Todhunter, sir!” Rimmer offered the second officer an exaggerated salute and a fake smile as he passed him in the corridor. He didn’t like the man very much, never had, but Todhunter was his superior, and was the person most likely to put him in for a promotion, so Rimmer always tried to stay in his good graces. He’d always been a bit jealous — not that he’d admit it — because Todhunter was younger than him by a few years and was already only two steps away from Captain. That’s where Rimmer wanted to be, where Rimmer  _ should  _ be. But he did his  _ best _ to keep his jealousy to himself and instead made himself look better by putting down Lister. 

It seemed Todhunter was in a good mood, no doubt because he hadn’t yet had his morning spoiled by Lister (or Rimmer, though that was about to change). “Morning, Rimmer,” he replied, with only the slightest bit of weariness. “Lister.”

Lister offered a cheerful wave in response, which Rimmer rolled his eyes at. How disrespectful could he get? Crewmen were supposed to salute their superiors, not wave at them. But Todhunter was either unbothered or simply too tired to deal with insubordination, so he simply nodded in response and continued on down the corridor. Lister shrugged and continued to push the trolley, humming all the while. It took all of Rimmer’s control to not scream at him, control that he only maintained because of their proximity to Captain Hollister’s office. The last thing he wanted to do, after making a fool of himself in front of Todhunter, was make a fool of himself in front of Hollister.

They came to a halt in front of their first stop of the day — the coffee dispenser in the Officer’s Suite. Rimmer stood a little taller as he looked at the entrance way, squaring his shoulders. “Well, Listy,” he said smugly. “Here we are. Normally, no crewmen are allowed in the Officer’s Suite. Of course, as technicians performing essential duties, we are the exception. But we also have an obligation to maintain the serenity and formality of these hallowed halls, which means that out of respect, only I will be going inside. The last thing I want is to have your socks stinking up the whole place.” He looked at Lister smugly, as if he’d just won some argument. But Lister simply didn’t care. He had no interest in going in there. It meant less work for him, for one thing. But Rimmer didn’t take the hint, even had Lister’s lack of response. “Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ll be back.” He straightened his tie and pushed the trolly inside, the doors sliding open and then shut behind him.

Lister loitered in the corridor, leaning up against the wall. He glanced back and forth, and once he was certain no one was around, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, took a drag, and then stuck it in his ear. From his other pocket he withdrew a piece of paper, and unfolded it. Tiny, careful lettering filled the page edge to edge, and he had to squint to actually make it out. 

_ Dear friend, _

He bounced on his heels, showing the first genuine bit of excitement he’d expressed all morning. As his eyes started to skim the page, he heard the telltale sound of metal clunking on the ground, and he looked up to see a familiar face coming towards him.

“Kryten!” Lister said, beaming. “Mornin’!” 

Kryten brightened, quickening his steps until he reached his side. “Good morning, Mr. Lister, sir! What… are you doing in the corridor? Are you lost? I  _ knew _ we needed to repaint the directionals.”

Lister grinned and shook his head. “I’m not lost,” he said. “Rimmer’s in the Officer’s Suite repairing a coffee dispenser. Wanted me to wait out here. So I’m just—” He held up the letter, waving it in front of Kryten’s face. “Reading this.”

Kryten clapped his hands together. “Another letter, sir?”

“Just came in last night! I already sent off a response this morning.” 

“Did they send a picture this time?” Kryten asked curiously. Lister shook his head. “But you’re  _ quite  _ sure it’s from Miss Kochanski?”

“It has to be.” Lister’s expression shifted, something wistful and longing taking over. “We connect so well, just like she and I did. And I  _ know _ she left me for Tim, but he didn’t seem very interested. I think that’s why she won’t tell me who she is. Doesn’t want it getting out that she’s flirting with someone else, even in letters. But it has to be. Even if she doesn’t know it’s  _ me _ she’s writing to.”

Kryten considered this. “So you don’t plan to meet face to face?”

Lister shrugged. “Not yet. But soon, I know it.” His smile turned sly. “Let me read it to you, Krytes. It’s so beautiful.” Kryten nodded enthusiastically in response. “Right, okay.” He cleared his throat. “ _ Dear friend,” _ he paused, glancing at the mechanoid excitedly. “ _ Yesterday morning, the lifts were broken and I ran up the stairs ten decks to the post box. I had the key in my hand — the key to box 1433. Trembling, I opened the door and reached inside. And oh, my dear friend, there you were. I took you out, held you in my hand, and looked at you for a moment. Then I sat down, gently opened you, and read you.” _

He was interrupted by a shout from down the hall, and more rapid footsteps. They both looked up, and Lister grinned and waved. “Cat!”

“Mr. Cat, good morning sir!” Kryten echoed.

Cat skidded to a halt, looking out of breath. “Morning, buds!” He put his hands on his hips. “How’s it hanging?”

“Y’know,” said Lister. “It’s hanging.”

“I’m doing well, thank you.” Kryten nodded. “Where are you headed?”

“Captain,” Cat said, rolling his eyes slightly and pointing over his shoulder at the entrance to the drive room a little further down. “He’s got me running errands.”

Lister winced, sympathetic. “Oof. Sorry, man. I know the feeling.” He shot a look behind him, to the doors Rimmer went through. “Dunno why you put up with it.”

“I don’t got much choice, do I?” Cat scowled. “Bein’ a stowaway and all that.” He gave Lister a pointed look.

“Hey, don’t blame me for that!”

“Um, you  _ brought _ me here!”

(This is where, it would be pertinent to mention, this story differs from the one you may be familiar with. You know the dimensional theory of reality? The one that suggests there is a universe created for every choice that’s been made as well as its opposite, therefore leading to the conclusion that for every possible scenario, there is a universe where it plays out? If it makes you feel better about this particular anomaly, you can consider this story as a small slice of life in just one of those realities. Or you can just accept it for what it is, and not think too hard on it.)

In summary:

  1. There was no radiation leak on Red Dwarf. That, or there will be, but it hadn’t happened yet. Either way, the crew was all alive and well.   
  

  2. By some strange turn of events, Kryten was built a few hundred years earlier, and was commissioned as a sanitation droid on Red Dwarf, rather than the Nova 5. Assuming, of course, that no radiation leak occurs, he will have the good fortune to not be on a ship whose entire crew dies. If it does… well, it would be a fitting completion of his arc. His presence on the ship now may be reminiscent of a certain _other_ timeline, where there is an obvious lack of people of color and a significant decrease in budget and humor.  

  3. The _felis sapien_ species, rather than evolving from a domestic housecat, was a failed experimental genetically engineered life form native to Titan. Where they all ended up after that, I have no clue, but around the time that Lister took his shore leave to the largest of Saturn’s moons, there was somewhere between only one and very few left. It was this one, which I am certain of, that Lister came across one night. He had been drunk, an attempt to forget about his rather humiliating breakup with Kristine Kochanski, where she dumped him for an old boyfriend, when he encountered the man in the fancy suit, who offered no name but was 100% convinced he was a cat. He’d waxed poetic about some place called Fushal, a so-called ‘Promised Land’, that his people were destined to find — except his people had all left, and now he was stuck here on his own with no way to get there. Lister, well under the effect of the seven lagers he’d had that night, was absolutely enraptured by the story. Not to mention he felt an odd kinship with the cat man. He’d been trapped on Mimas with no way to get home, which is why he signed up for the Jupiter Mining Corporation in the first place. Even in this universe, Lister had big plans of buying a farm on Fiji, and when you’re drunk and listening to a man who’s also a cat talk about his dreams too, Fushal and Fiji can sound very, very similar. To make an already too long story short, Lister promised the cat that he would bring him aboard Red Dwarf, return to Earth, and take him to Fiji along with Kochanski. When he returned to the ship the next day, he somehow managed to sneak the cat on board. (It was certainly a lot harder than smuggling a _normal_ cat, but he made it work.) But, true to form, Holly was quite good at identifying unregistered life forms, and it didn’t take long for the cat to be discovered. However, rather than sending Lister to stasis as punishment or flushing the stowaway out of an airlock, Captain Hollister agreed to allow Cat to remain on board for the rest of the trip. The JMC was not in the habit of enlisting GELFs or any other non-human creatures, but he was handy enough to have around that no one really complained. And while most of the time you could find him lounging around and stocking up on fish from the vending machine in the drive room, if you paid close enough attention, you might just catch him watching the pilots, silently observing. He would never admit it aloud, but he liked being there. His suits stayed cleaner than they ever did on Titan, he was better fed, and it was _certainly_ more entertaining. Still, there was never a shortage of complaints from him, but then again, he _was_ a cat. That sort of thing was to be expected.



All this to say, Cat and Lister bickered about this particular incident most of the time. It was a near-daily routine by this point, and neither were particularly passionate about it.

“Anyway,” Cat said, getting back to the point after such a long-winded diversion. “I should probably go see what Captain Hamster-Face wants.” 

“Hollister,” Kryten corrected. Cat waved his hand in dismissal and trotted off down the corridor.

“That’s my cue to go as well,” Kryten said to Lister once he’d left, somewhat regretfully. “Do you still have time for Mechanoid Development later on?”

Lister grinned, and patted him on the shoulder. “Course I do! Anything to get me through this day with Rimmer.”

Meanwhile, the aforementioned Second Technician’s morning was slowly getting worse and worse. First, he had to breathe the same air as Lister. Second, the coffee dispenser refused to be fixed. It literally just kept shutting him out and pouring scalding water on him if he got too close to solving the problem. It seemed, at least to Rimmer, that this was a personal vendetta. (He had no proof of this of course. The dispenser said nothing. But he didn’t take kindly to being disrespected by one of the only things on this ship that ranked lower than him.) Third, Captain Hollister chose that exact moment to get a cup of coffee. Resisting the urge to put his fist in his mouth, Rimmer explained to him, as calmly as possible, that he was having difficulty getting the machine to cooperate. 

Unsurprisingly, Hollister wasn’t interested in excuses. “Rimmer, you’re not a one-man team,” he said, exasperated. “Where’s Lister? Can he not help you?”

Rimmer’s expression shifted instantly into one of embarrassment and frustration. He didn’t  _ want _ Lister’s help! He didn’t want Lister in the Officer’s Suite being loud and disruptive, and he  _ certainly _ didn’t want Lister either A) making the problem worse for B) solving the problem and therefore showing him up. But with Captain Hollister now breathing down his neck, it seemed like he had no choice.

But Rimmer was nothing if not an expert at finding loopholes.

“Sir,” he said, standing slowly, an idea forming. “Per Space Corps Directive #82, no enlisted personnel who have not earned an officer commission may enter the Officer’s Suite except by express invitation of an officer, or on maintenance orders, in which case only the highest ranking technician on duty may be permitted entry..” He gave Hollister a very fake smile and a salute, as if to say  _ I know my rules inside and out, Captain, and I will not break this one when I am perfectly capable of handling this myself _ .

Hollister frowned. “Rimmer, I believe that’s Space Corps Directive #115. #82 is actually—”

“Yes, yes, alright!” He snapped, a little too hastily. The Captain raised his eyebrows, but Rimmer backed down quickly and so, perhaps for his own sanity more than anything, he decided to not press the matter. 

“If it makes you  _ feel _ better,” Hollister continued, “I can always  _ promote _ third technician Lister to second technician, so that he will be equal to you and therefore permitted entry.” This, of course, was unnecessary, since as the Captain, he could have just fetched Lister from the hall then and there. But there was something satisfying about antagonizing Rimmer, doing things that he  _ knew _ would piss him off, that seemed to drive him to make everything more complicated than it needed to be. 

And it worked. Rimmer’s face went red and he threw up his hands in defense almost instantly. “No! I mean, no, I can — he can come help, with your permission, sir. Maybe at least then I’ll have someone to hand me my tools.” His nose wrinkled in obvious disgust at the  _ thought _ that Lister might be promoted. Without a third technician to boss around, what  _ would _ he do? “Besides” He considered for a moment. “I would certainly wait to see what happens before rushing into anything. This dispenser is quite old. It may be smarter to replace the entire unit. I doubt anyone can repair it.”

Hollister sighed. “Rimmer, just get him in here and fix the damn machine. I don’t care how.”

Rimmer grit his teeth and nodded. “Yessir, Captain Hollister, sir.” He began a long salute, less out of respect and more in an attempt to stall the inevitable. (If nothing else, at least he was self-aware.) The captain saw right through it.

_ “Go!” _

And Rimmer went.

Out in the corridor, he found Lister much in the same position he found him — leaning against a wall, a cigarette sticking out of his ear, and his eyes shut. And… snoring. He’d actually fallen asleep, the useless idiot! “Listy!” Rimmer said, in all the fake-cheer he could muster. “Sleeping on the job? I could put you on report for that, miladdo.” He withdrew his notebook and opened to a clean page.

Lister cracked one eye open, then the other, and gave a huff of exasperation. “Then do it, Rimmer, I don’t care.” 

Equally annoyed that Lister didn’t seem nearly as upset by the threat as he wanted him to be, he snapped the notebook shut, tucked it away again, and turned his back. “No time, unfortunately. Your presence is required inside.”

Lister’s eyes lit up. “Ohhhhh you  _ need _ me now?”

“No,” Rimmer said, looking back at Lister with a grimace. “But Captain Hollister thinks that  _ you _ can fix the dispenser.”

A slow grin spread over Lister’s face, and he started laughing, quietly at first, then louder. The more he laughed, the more flared Rimmer’s nostrils became. “What?” Lister finally managed to spit out between gasps for air. “You couldn’t do it yourself?”

“Alright, alright,” Rimmer grumbled, smoothing down the front of his shirt. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Down the corridor, Cat’s head poked out of the entrance to the drive room. “Hey! Either of you monkeys seen the captain? He’s not in his office.”

Rimmer gave him a flat look. “In the Officer’s Suite.”

“Oh good!” Cat said, flashing a sharp-toothed smile, and disappeared back inside. Rimmer glanced at Lister, who just raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“Come on,” Rimmer grumbled, and swept through the doors with all the grace and flourish he could muster. Lister, still half-laughing, bounded after him.

A few minutes later, Lister was lying on his back, head inside the belly of the dispenser, tightening bolts on the underside. Rimmer and Hollister stood side by side, the former’s hands on his hips and the latter’s arms crossed. They both watched him critically, but Lister was oblivious, singing to himself even with a wrench in his mouth.

“Rimmer,” Hollister said. “Why don’t you come to dinner on Friday night?”

He could only stare. “I’m sorry, what?”

Hollister looked like he was already regretting asking. “Just a little something I do for my up and coming officers,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“But…” Rimmer just kept staring. “I’m not an officer.”

“No shit,” Hollister said. “Just say yes before I change my mind.”

But before Rimmer could reply either way, Lister scooted out from under the dispenser, gave it a pat, and stood up. “Coffee,” he said. A cup appeared, filled to the top, and turned around with a flourish. Rimmer and Hollister exchanged a look — one furious, one vaguely impressed. “All set, Captain, sir!” He reached over to hand it to Hollister, and  _ quite _ accidentally, spilled it on Rimmer. 

Rimmer yelped, jumping back as the dark liquid soaked the front of his shirt. “Lister!” he shouted. “What  _ are _ you doing?” The few officers standing around looked over at them, and Rimmer flushed as he realized they were all staring. This was  _ not _ how he wanted today to go at all. And now he would have to go change his shirt, wasting even  _ more _ time. 

“Givin’ a cuppa to the Captain, but me hand slipped—” Lister grinned cheekily up at the two of them. “Can I get you another?”

Hollister pinched his temples and shook his head. “ _ No _ . Thank you. Now please,  _ please _ , get out.”

He nodded, chugged down the remainder of the coffee, and strolled out. Rimmer turned to follow, then stopped. “I’ll be there Friday!” He gave a quick salute. “A-and, good morning, sir!” he stammered on his way out. 

Captain Hollister all but slammed the doors in his face. “Good  _ day!” _

The rest of the day passed agonizingly slowly. After falling far behind due to needing to return to his quarters to change, Rimmer was extra snippy. Lister, however, was in a great mood, mostly because he’d successfully pissed Rimmer off. And the work never got easier. Chicken soup machines dispensed black goo, corridors were slippery where they’d just been mopped, and always,  _ always _ , Lister somehow managed to solve the problem before Rimmer. It wasn’t  _ fair _ , Rimmer fumed. Lister didn’t even try, he had no interest in the work, no dedication, no drive. Why should he be the Z-Shift hero of the day? He got countless thanks from every officer who had reported a problem, while Rimmer stood to the side, ignored. He couldn’t stand it. Normally, he liked his job. Sure, it was mundane work better suited to the scutters, but any job worth doing was a job worth doing well, and he took great pride in his stature at the head of Z-Shift because of this. Every little success kept him on a forward path, up, up, up the ziggurat. Besides, the ship would fall to pieces without these crucial repairs — even a huge mining ship required the precise technical routine maintenance they provided.

Rimmer liked to feel useful. That’s what it came down to, really. But he liked feeling  _ cared for _ more. So when the work was finally done and his personal evening errands completed, Rimmer retired back to his quarters with an envelope clutched tightly in his hand. Lister was gone, which he was grateful for. He didn’t think he could handle even one more minute with him. Maybe he would turn in early, so he’d sleep through the man’s eventual return. Or maybe he’d get lucky, and Lister would stay out all night drinking himself to death.

Ugh, no. Then Rimmer would have to deal with it in the morning.

“Lock,” he said, and as the door clicked shut behind him, Rimmer collapsed onto his bunk and opened the envelope carefully with his vintage nineteenth century letter opener. As he unfolded the paper, he was greeted with the same handwriting as the postbox number on the front. Letting out a sigh, he relaxed back against the pillows and began to read.

_ Dear friend, _ _  
_ _ I sometimes wish big words and flowery language came easily to me like they do to you. It makes all your letters sound smart. You probably are smart. Smarter than me. But that’s okay, you know why? I’m a simple person. I don’t care about what other people think of me. Well, besides you. Not that I don’t have principles! Of course I do. But I’m realistic. I’m practical. I know where I stand in all of this, and I’m content with it. After all, I’m exactly where I want to be. Why should I ask for more? I have everything that I want. Or at least I’m on my way to getting it. Have I told you about my plan? It’s long-term, five years! You’d be impressed, I think. Sure, it doesn’t involve the Space Corps forever, but who wants to stay in one place for too long? I’ll save up, learn the skills I never got at home, and when the time is right, I’ll go back home to Earth. I know… it’s still a plan in development. But I can see it so clearly in my mind! And I hope I’m not being too forward or anything when I say this, but I feel like you and I have known each other for long enough now that I can tell you without you laughing at me. Well, I guess we don't really know each other, but it feels like we do, doesn’t it? Anyways. In my plan, you’re there. And we’re together. Hopefully one day, when you’re ready, we can meet. I’ll tell you the rest of the plan then. It’ll be something to look forward to. _

When he finished, Rimmer read it again, and then again, for good measure. He couldn’t believe his luck! Dear Friend — as he had taken to calling her — was perfect. Smart, as any officer should be, despite her insistence that she was not (humility is a very attractive trait, he always said), but not as smart as him. She was practical, that was good. And she had everything she wanted. That was the most exciting part. It meant she must be a high-ranking officer already! Just the thought of it made Rimmer feel warm. If it were anyone else, he would be jealous. If it were anyone else, he would want to rank above them, make himself feel important. But he didn’t have to do that with Dear Friend. Dear Friend liked him for what he was. Well… he hadn’t  _ told _ her his rank, not yet, but  _ only _ because there were only so many second technicians on Red Dwarf. It might give him away too soon! So instead, he’d simply told her that he was a highly skilled officer (a little hyperbole never hurt anyone) who performed essential to the ship’s daily operations. And she loved it! Besides, even if she did rank above him, he could use her stature to climb higher. The thought occurred — should he tell her about Captain Hollister’s invitation? No, he decided. It might seem like bragging. (It was, but Dear Friend had been  _ so _ humble…)

Clutching the letter once more to his chest, Rimmer took just a moment longer to revel in his good fortune, and then stood up, tucking it away into the box with the others, and pulling out his own stationary. He sat at the table, and began to write.

_ Dear friend, _ _  
_ _ When a day brings petty aggravations and my poor, frayed nerves are all askew, I forget these unimportant matters pouring out my hopes and dreams to you. It’s remarkable how your words always soothe me no matter what I’m feeling. It’s almost as if you’re in my head, as if you know what I’ve been through and are picking just the right things to say. My dear friend, I have never met anyone who understands me the way you do. Even those who I’ve known my whole life, who I see every day, they have never once tried to see inside my heart. But your kindness is unmatched. I feel as if I can tell you anything… and yet I still worry. Perhaps, as you said so eloquently, there are some things worth saving. I do not wish to rush you, but I am so anxious to meet you, I cannot stand it. Please know this. I just want to wait until the timing is right. Your security and confidence in your position is admirable, and I wish I could share it. But things are beginning to look up, even as everyone around me seems to fall victim to incompetence. I reread your letters, which are so refreshingly honest, so that when I feel that I am alone in this vast and endless universe, there you are — a reminder that I do matter. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit different from my usual stuff, yeah? I can't promise a regular writing schedule, but I'm pretty jazzed about this one, so expect more soon. Thanks for reading! Comments fuel me and are always appreciated <3


	2. Three Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More letters are exchanged, Rimmer's career prospects fluctuate wildly, and Lister has a game-changing realization.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peep that new character tag! There's some fun stuff in here, but I apologize in advance if it's incoherent. I finished writing this at 12:30am. Anyway, sorry for the wait -- I promise the next chapter won't take so long. Enjoy!

_ Dear friend, _ _   
_ _ I spent the weekend listening to new music. It’s crazy how each of the lunar colonies on Jupiter’s moons have different music styles. I had no idea. I always thought they would just be the same as Earth music, you know, but it’s different. If aliens were real, I’d say it was alien music but actually it’s just… Jupiter music. Does that make sense? I don’t know. I just like thinking about it. Being in space is still pretty new for me. There’s so much to explore and learn about. I just want to see it all. Boldly go, and all of that. I miss home sometimes, though. Actually, I miss it a lot. It seems like it’ll be forever before I can go back. But I’m trying to make the best of it. When I wake up and see nothing but stars out the window, it almost makes it seem worth it. Anyway, wow that got depressing really fast. Do you miss home? Or is it different, being from space already? Although… I guess being from Earth is just as much being from space as being from a moon. I never thought about it that way before. Oh! What’s your favorite music? I want to listen to it sometime. I think it’ll make me feel closer to you. That’ll sustain me until we meet, and can listen to our favorite music together. _ _   
_ _ Talk to you soon! _

Grinning, Lister licked the envelope, gave it a little pap, and dropped it into the mailbox, sauntering off down the hall to work.

Three Months Later…

Things were beginning to look up for Rimmer. He barreled through work with the same enthusiasm as ever, the same vivacious energy and determination. It wasn’t any more  _ enjoyable _ , but work wasn’t supposed to be. It was about honor. About duty. About putting in the time and the effort and proving yourself. And eventually, as he had convinced himself long ago, it would pay off. A promotion was coming. It had to be. Captain Hollister’s dinners, which had become a weekly occurrence,  _ had _ to be paying off. 

He tried to reason out an explanation for why things weren’t going faster. Z-Shift would crumble without him, Rimmer figured. Who would keep the ship operational if he were promoted? Certainly not Lister. And if he became a first technician, he would be moved to a new shift, and then what? The first techs had officer supervisors. Here, where he was, Rimmer was in charge. He had power, even if it was a small amount. When he passed his exam and became an officer all on his own,  _ then _ things would be different. For now, he just had to keep doing what he was doing, and they would all see how hard he worked. If not in formal rank, then at least he was gaining the respect of the senior officers. Up, up, up the Ziggurat. Maybe not so lickety-split, but slow and steady wins the race.

At least that’s what Lister always said to justify the meandering pace with which he did everything, from work, to showering, to simply getting up in the morning. In fact, the only thing he  _ didn’t _ do slowly was eat. 

Maybe he was onto something, though.

The pair was on their way to their first assignment of the day when Todhunter came rushing past them, with Kochanski on his heels. They looked like they were in a hurry, and Rimmer practically leapt out of the way so as to not be run down by the two senior officers. Lister pulled the trolley to the side. 

“Kris!” he said, giving the navigation officer a bright smile. 

She sighed, and slowed down, and then stopped. Turning around, she smiled back at Lister, patient but thin-lipped. She looked stressed. “Hi, Dave.”

Ahead of her, Todhunter kept running, he turned a corner and disappeared from sight. Rimmer watched him go, not interested in whatever was happening with Lister and Kochanski’s weird courtship.

“How are ya?” Lister asked, leaning casually against the trolley. It rolled out from under him, and he stumbled to catch his balance. 

Her expression shifted into one of amusement, just for a moment. “I’m fine,” she said. 

“It’s been a while, innit?” Lister pressed. Rimmer watched him with vague annoyance. It really was pathetic, how desperate he was to keep up the conversation. She  _ clearly _ wasn’t interested in him, but he just hadn’t seemed to get the memo.

“I guess it has,” Kochanski replied quietly. “Look, I’ve really got to go. Captain needs us in the drive room.” She gestured ahead. 

“Alright,” Lister said, shoulders slumping. “Seeya later?”

Kochanski hesitated, then gave a halfhearted wave. “Bye,” she said, and set off straight down the corridor again. 

As soon as she was gone, but not quite before she was out of earshot, Rimmer clapped Lister on the back. “Better luck next time, Listy!” he crowed. “Look, we’re needed on C-Deck. The fresh fruit dispenser is acting up again. She’s always happy to see you, at least.” Lister scowled, grabbed onto the trolley again, and turned around abruptly, crashing into Rimmer as he did so. “Hey!” he shouted at Lister’s quickly retreating back. “Watch where you’re going Lister, honestly!” Rimmer quickly hurried after him. “Stop it! You stop right there miladdo! You’re going on report!” But Lister didn’t stop, or even slow down. Instead, he propped one foot up on the bottom ledge of the tolley and kicked off the ground, riding it all the way to the lift. Rimmer, waving his report book and pen, raced after him with a slight limp from where Lister had slammed into his shin. “Lister! Hello! You’re in direct violation of Space Corps Directive #259! Lister! Come back here!”

Lister did no such thing, and by the time Rimmer reached the end of the hallway, Lister had already caught a lift, leaving Rimmer to wait for the next one. “Unbelievable,” he said to no one in particular. “He’s just unbelievable.”

But then again, he thought, as the doors dinged and he crammed in with twenty other crewmen all covered in soot and ash, looking like they had just returned from the mines, at least he wasn’t heartbroken and still mourning an ex from nearly nine months ago. At least  _ he _ was in love, even if he didn’t know who she was. 

What Rimmer didn’t know, of course, was that Lister was  _ also _ in love. He was happy, living his best life, and in love with Kristine Kochanski. Sure, she probably didn’t  _ realize _ it, but Lister was convinced. It had to be her. That’s why he’d stopped her. He was hoping she’d say something that would accidentally reveal herself to him. Then, once he had proof, he could reveal himself without worry. But she barely said two words to him.  _ Probably hasn’t broken up with Tim yet _ , Lister reasoned.  _ Still trying to keep up appearances. Can’t be caught socializing with her ex who is also her secret lover in public _ .  _ Yes, _ he resolved.  _ That’s it. Just like in the movies _ . 

Rimmer met him on C-Deck, emerging from a crowded lift disheveled and out of breath after shoving his way out from behind the miners. “You alright, man?” Lister asked, barely masking his amusement. “Here, let me fix your hair—”

Rimmer swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch me, Lister. Your fingers have more grime on them than every cave on Jupiter combined.” Lister just shrugged and shoved his hands back in his pockets. “Right,” Rimmer said, walking up to the dispenser. He smoothed his hair down as best he could with one hand. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Fruit’s all rotten,” Lister said.

“Rotten?” Rimmer scowled. He crouched down next to the machine. “Apple.”

An apple fell into his hand, rotted to the core. Making a slight retching sound, Rimmer tossed it to Lister. Lister gave it a sniff, bit into it experimentally, shrugged, and took another bite. 

“Peach.” This one came out moldy. Lister caught it in his free hand, licked a non-moldy area, then tossed it into the cart for later. That’s what knives are for, he figured. Cut away the bad parts, leaving you with a perfectly good partial piece of fruit.

Rimmer went through this with the rest of the menu, each spoiled piece of fruit ending up in a pile that Lister was planning to take home. “Check to see when this was restocked,” Rimmer ordered. Lister looked at the little sticker slapped on the side of the dispenser. “Monday,” he said.

“Right, and this is Thursday,” Rimmer said. “That’s not right at all. Lister, hand me a hex key, I’m going to open it up.” Lister passed him the tool and Rimmer knelt down, fiddling with the bolts. When he got the maintenance hatch open, he shone a little flashlight up inside. “Hm,” he said, with the air of someone trying very hard to sound important but who is clearly faking competence. “I’m not quite sure what we’re looking for,” he admitted.

Lister crouched down as well. “Try checking the filter,” he said, chewing loudly and then spitting a plum pit onto the ground. “The, uhhhhh… preservatives. Y’know. The stuff that keeps it fresh.” 

“Lister, I think I’d know if it was the—” He cut off. “Oh. Alright. Hand me a 12C.” No response. “A 12C?” Nothing. “Lister?” He looked over. Lister was picking his teeth with a pipe cleaner. “Lister!”

“What?” He looked up, startled. “Oh, here you go.” He tugged it from his mouth and handed it over. “Cheers, man.”

Looking like he was going to throw up, Rimmer grit his teeth and set back to work. By the time he finished, he was thoroughly irritated. Lister couldn’t have been in a better mood. Annoying Rimmer was just as fun, if not more so, than anything he did in his free time. It certainly kept things interesting while on duty. And honestly, he didn’t even really  _ care _ . He had nothing against Rimmer, honestly he didn’t. He was just  _ such _ a smeghead, and Rimmer seemed to have it out for him, so Lister saw no point in trying to continue being nice. Civil, sure, when he had to be. But nice?  _ Friendly? _ Not a chance.

It was at this point that Holly’s face appeared on the screen behind them. “Second Technician Rimmer?” Rimmer whirled around, startled. 

“Yes?” he asked suspiciously.

“Captain Hollister would like to see you in the drive room.”

Rimmer noticeably straightened up. This was it! This was the moment! The time for his promotion had come at last. “You see, Listy?” he remarked to a very unimpressed Lister. “Hard work gets rewarded! While I’m gone, go down to the cargo bay and refill this stock. And then keep working down the list until I return.” He eyed Lister skeptically. “Can you manage that without smegging something up?”

“Yes sir, Rimmer, sir!” Lister said with a mock salute.

Rimmer turned back to Holly’s projection. “Tell Captain Hollister I’m on my way.”

The drive room was bustling when Rimmer arrived. Cat, who was hovering over the shoulder of one of the pilots, glanced over and leaned back against the wall casually, taking a bite from the lobster roll he was holding. “Hiya, bud!” he said nonchalantly. Rimmer ignored him, feeling a familiar rage start to boil in the pits of his stomach. A lobster roll? The bridge officers got lobster? A  _ stowaway  _ could eat a smegging lobster roll in the drive room, but not him? Unbelievable.  _ Don’t think like that,  _ Rimmer reminded himself.  _ You’ll be one of them soon. _

“Rimmer, are you quite done dawdling?” That was Todhunter, poking his head out from Hollister’s office. “The Captain doesn’t have all day.” Rimmer winced and modded.

“Of course sir.” 

He followed Todhunter inside, the second officer standing at attention by the door. Rimmer gave Hollister a very long, very exaggerated, very formal salute, complete with swirls and flourishes. Hollister stared blankly at him, finally cutting him off just before he finished. “Rimmer, that’s enough.”

Rimmer stopped. “Yes sir,” he said.

“I’ve told you that saluting me every single time is not necessary.”

“Yes sir.”

“So why do you keep doing it?”

“Yes sir.”

They started at each other, Hollister clearly waiting for Rimmer to figure out what went wrong. No such realization came. 

“Alright,” Hollister said with a sigh of defeat. “How is your shift going?”

“Very well, sir,” Rimmer said, practically bouncing on his toes in anticipation. “Oh, Lister is a nuisance as always, really I have no clue how he even was accepted into the Space Corps, but I’m a natural-born leader, sir. I keep him in line.”

Hollister gave a grunt of mild disbelief. “Of course,” he said. “And your performance?”

“At the risk of sounding rather pompous,” Rimmer answered, a slight smirk on his face, “I believe I’m at my personal best. With room to grow, of course!”

Hollister nodded. “Todhunter here says productivity is up.” There was something almost skeptical in his voice, though Rimmer didn’t notice. He nodded enthusiastically.

“Almost thirty percent,” Todhunter confirmed. “It’s impressive.”

“I’m surprised,” Hollister admitted. “Though not displeased. Your shift’s operations are improving rapidly.

_Up, up, up,_ thought Rimmer. What he refused to admit, of course, was that this was due almost entirely to Lister. Damn man had the answers to everything! It wasn’t fair. He had a brain the size of a pea, how did he have all this knowledge? “I run a tight ship,” Rimmer said in response. “Er, shift. You run the ship sir, and very well, sir.” In reality, Rimmer didn’t think he ran it well at all, but sometimes you just have to suck up to the people you don’t like. 

Hollister looked at him in consideration. “Well, keep it up,” he said finally. “And you may have a promotion in your future.” He exchanged a look with Todhunter, and Rimmer could barely keep the excitement from his face. He concealed it as best he could. 

“Yes sir,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time. “Thank you, sir.”

Hollister sighed. “Yes, Rimmer. Dismissed.” He sat there with thinly-veiled impatience as Rimmer went through his whole salute routine again. When he’d finished, he turned on his heel and walked out. Slowly, calmly. And then as soon as the door had closed behind him, he gave a whoop of excitement. Every single officer in the drive room turned to stare at him, and he cleared his throat, face going red in embarrassment, and hurried out. Distantly, he could hear raised voices coming from Hollister’s office, though he couldn’t make out the words. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

As he headed back to find Lister, a feeling of uncertainty settled over Rimmer. Whatever confidence boost he’d gotten from his liaison quickly began to fade away. He  _ knew _ he didn’t deserve all the credit for the work being done. He loathed to think how productive Lister was being on his own right now. But that’s what all officers did, wasn’t it? Took credit for the work their subordinates did, while they sat around smoking cigars and —  _ ugh _ — eating lobster rolls? 

For the second time that day, Rimmer crammed into a crowded lift, and decided that he was going to start working twice as hard until he could best Lister all on his own. This wasn’t about duty, or doing this right thing. This was about personal honor and dignity. 

He had a hell of a lot of work to do.

When the day was finally over (the worklist, unsurprisingly, completely finished), Rimmer collapsed into his bunk, holding his stationary box gently in his lap. He’d been so busy, he hadn’t had time to write at all. Luckily, now that he had a chance to relax, the words came easily to him.

_ Dear friend, _ _   
_ _ With this cycle nearly finished and shore leave just around the corner, I wonder if you’re been as restless as I have. Do you feel an undertone of discord and a sense of tension in the air? I cannot shake the feeling that something is coming, but whether that something is new and exciting or ghastly and terrible, I can’t seem to tell. I’m not superstitious by nature, but I do believe in destiny, and fate. And something tells me things aren’t right. Aren’t normal, or as they should be. As if everything is backwards somehow. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe I’m standing on the precipice of something great. I’d like to believe I am. But I worry. I worry that somehow, everyone will realize I’m a fraud. And I wonder if I’m doing the right thing. It isn’t easy. But I know I can make my own way. I always have. Still, if it weren’t for your endearing letters, I likely would’ve given up hope long ago. Your encouragement keeps me going. How are your prospects looking? I hope, for your sake, things aren’t quite as frustrating for you as they are for me. Do you have plans yet for shore leave? Perhaps we can coordinate, if you’re interested. But no pressure, of course. When the time is right, we’ll have many more chances to go on holiday together.  _ _   
_ _ Yours, fondly. _

Three months after that, we can safely say that Rimmer and “Dear Friend” did not take shore leave together. In fact, Rimmer spent it working overtime. In the intervening weeks, Hollister had been on Rimmer’s ass more than ever. The promotion, which had once seemed so close, now seemed like a distant dream. As a result, Rimmer was even grumpier than usual. 

It didn’t bother Lister, though. He strolled down the corridor, pushing the trolley, whistling a cheerful tune. Rimmer was, for once, nowhere in sight. He waved to Kryten who came up from the other direction, and stopped in front of the drive room. Inside, Cat was leaning up against the doorway, and Kochanski was standing just inside. “Hey guys!” Lister greeted cheerfully. A chorus of “hey”s, “hi”s, and “hello”s greeted him in return. 

“What’s on your schedule for today, sir?” Kryten asked him.

“I dunno,” Lister said, yawning. “Waiting for the boss man.” He rolled his eyes. “Tonight, I was just gonna go down to the bar, get a drink.” A sly expression crept onto his face, and he turned to Kochanski with a bright, mischievous grin. “Want to join me?” 

Kryten’s eyes widened. This went unnoticed by all parties but Lister, who winked as subtly as he could. 

He wasn’t really expecting her to say yes. But, in what was a shocking turn of events for them both, she simply hesitated, then nodded, and said, “yeah, alright.”

For the longest fives seconds of their lives, Lister said nothing. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, he slammed his fist into his palm and gave a triumphant holler. Kochanski and Kryten exchanged an amused look, which Lister did not catch as a certain Second Technician approached them, his heels clicking on the floor loudly.

Lister, still grinning, greeted him with a friendly-but-mocking salute. “Mornin’ Rimmer.”

Rimmer, looking slightly disheveled as if he had just rolled out of bed, straightened his tie and unsuccessfully attempted to get his hair under control. “Ah, congratulations, Lister.” He looked pointedly at his watch. “I see you’re on time today.”

Lister smirked. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

Nostrils flaring in irritation, Rimmer leaned in close until they were practically nose to nose. “Oh, but I’m not disappointed,” he sneered. “Far from it. Let’s just call it…” he straightened up, waving his hand flippantly. “ _ Surprised _ .”

Lister laughed, short and sarcastic, and rolled his eyes, shoving the trolley abruptly down the hall and running over Rimmer’s toe in the process. Rimmer echoed him, cutting off into a squeal of pain and affrontement as he chased Lister down the hall. 

Kryten and Cat exchanged a slightly baffled glance.

“They always argue,” Kryten mused, shaking his head as he watched them go. “Why is that?”

Kochanski, who had been slightly lost in thought, turned to the mechanoid and smiled, glancing in the direction the pair had run off in. “Well Kryten, it’s a simple chemical reaction,” she explained. “You see, when two people like each other very much…”

Kryten looked at her, bewildered. “They  _ like _ each other?” 

Kochanski laughed quietly. “Well, I think so.”

Cat leaned in closer. “They like each other  _ very _ much?” Kochanski shrugged. 

Kryten followed her gaze down the corridor. “Well, don’t you think we should tell them?”

Shaking her head and patting him on the shoulder, she turned to head back to her station. “Kryten, my friend, they’d never believe us.”

And believe them they wouldn’t, as the pair continued shouting at each other all the way to their first work call of the morning. Whatever peace they may have had a chance at with Lister’s early arrival had quickly been shattered. But it couldn’t deter his good mood, not today. And seeing Rimmer grumpy at only his own expense was always able to bring a smile to his face. It probably wasn’t fair to him, but right now, Lister  _ really _ didn't care.

He didn’t like Rimmer, he really didn’t. He didn’t hate him either, but then again, he didn’t hate  _ anyone _ . He was just… ambivalent.

(And as for Rimmer, his feelings for Lister were a complex mix of immense distaste, hatred, and pure unadulterated loathing. But that’s something for another day.)

They were working on an out of service soup machine when Captain Hollsiter strode down the hall, looking angry. Lister tapped Rimmer on the shoulder to get his attention, and Rimmer sat up quickly, banging his head on the open maintenance flap as he did so. Cursing, he scrambled to his feet and started to salute.

Hollister cut him off. “Rimmer,  _ must _ the corridors on E-Deck always be covered in grimy bootprints?”

Rimmer frowned at him in confusion. “N-no sir,” he stammered out after a moment. “But Captain Hollister—”

“Sir,” Lister interjected, for some reason he could not begin to comprehend. “Z-Shift doesn’t—”

“Shut up, Lister, the adults are talking,” Rimmer snapped. “Captain Hollister—” He grumbled something under his breath and stomped away. “Captain Hollister!”

But he was gone. Rimmer rounded on Lister. “Good job,  _ excellent _ job, Lister,” he said with dripping sarcasm. “Now he’s angry at me for something that isn’t even my fault!”

Lister gaped at him. “And you’re blaming me? For what?”

“If you hadn’t interrupted me, I would’ve been able to explain.”

Lister felt the sudden urge to rip out his hair. Or Rimmer’s. Or maybe Rimmer’s tongue and his ears, so he never had to hear his bunkmate speak ever again. He heaved a sigh with exaggerated performative patience. “ _ I _ was going to explain,” he said calmly. “ _ You _ were going to stutter out some incomprehensible protest that would’ve ended in you calling him an stupid fat git.”

Rimmer’s face went red. “I was not!”

“Were too!”

“Not!”

“You  _ were _ !”

Rimmer’s expression was murderous. “Shut up Lister,” he said, clearly lacking a better argument. “I  _ guess _ we need to go mop the floors on E-Deck. This isn’t the first time he’s done this, you know! He’s been harassing me for weeks over the smallest things. Does he think I’m stupid?”

_ No, _ Lister wanted to say.  _ He probably just wants to put you in your place _ . He pinched the bridge of his nose. He really didn’t want to mop. He really didn’t want to do  _ anything _ else with Rimmer, but he was also tired of listening to him bitch and moan. So while helping him out was not at the top of his to-do list, he made the executive decision that this would be equally beneficial to him. He picked up his comm. “Lister to Kryten.”

“Lister, what are you doing?” Rimmer folded his arms over his chest, watching him with suspicion.

“The mechs do the sanitation,” he said. “I’ll ask Kryten to take care of it. Favor for me. He’ll do it.” He tapped the comm again impatiently. “Lister to Kryten. You there?”

There was no response. Rimmer rolled his eyes impatiently. “Real good friend you got there. Look, he’s ignoring you.”

Lister flipped him off with one hand. “Lister to—” he sighed. “Holly?”

The computer’s face appeared next to them. “What can I do for you?”

“Holly, where’s Kryten?” Lister asked, worry beginning to gnaw at him. “He’s not answering my comm.”

“No need to fret,” Holly said calmly. “The whole comm system is down.”

That caught Rimmer’s attention. “And that’s not a reason to fret?”

“Well, I’d hardly call it an emergency.” A personified computer whose only physical form is a head on a screen can’t shrug, but if it were possible, Holly would’ve done it. “All personnel identification has been disconnected from the mainframe. Hm,” he added, almost an afterthought. “This could be a real problem. I should inform the Captain. Later.” His image faded to black.

“I guess it’s floor scrubbing for us after all,” Rimmer sighed, shaking his head regretfully. “I’m better than this. If only I’d been granted that promotion…”

Lister, for some unfathomable reason, was struck with a sudden unexplainable guilt. “I’m sor—” he started to say, even though none of this was his fault at all.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Rimmer wasn’t interested in his apologies. “Save it, Lister,” he said, and stormed off down the hall. Lister just sighed and pushed the tolley after him, looking for the nearest broom closet to fetch a mop from and then lock himself inside for the next eight hours.

He probably shouldn’t have been surprised, knowing this ship, that none of the locks worked. And Rimmer caught on to every effort he made to ditch him along the way. But finally,  _ finally,  _ the day ended. Rimmer retreated back to the bunkroom, no doubt to think up some sort of revenge plan to unleash on Captain Hollister, but Lister couldn’t be bothered to ask. He had places to be. It was Saturday night, which meant drinking, dancing, and more importantly, drinking and dancing with Kristine Kochanski.

She was sitting at the bar when Lister arrived. She always had a casual air about her, even in uniform, but it was nice to see that she still dressed like a normal person when off-duty. Lister hadn't even realized, but ever since they broke up, he was just as nervous around her as he had been when they first met. “Hey,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to her. He adjusted his cap on his head. 

“Hi,” she said softly, smiling down at the counter. 

Lister thought for a moment. “How was the rest of your day, then?”

Kochanski fidgeted with the edge of the peanut dish in front of her. “Fine,” she said. “Do you… wanna go sit somewhere quieter?”

Lister glanced up at the speaker, hanging just above them, which was blasting a loud song with lyrics that were being screeched out at a painful pitch. “Yeah, totally,” he said, and pointed over to a table over in the corner. “I’ll get a drink and meet you over there.”

Kochanski nodded and wove her way through the crowd. Lister watched her go, then turned his attention to the bartender. “Two pints of lager,” he said. “And open a tab.”

When he finally joined her, she was swirling her drink around, looking restless. “Lager?” she asked, glancing at him as he sat down.

“You know me,” Lister joked. “Everything alright?” he asked. “You seem…” he scrunched up his face in thought. “Distracted.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” Kochanski said, shaking her head. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you asked me for a drink. You know this isn’t a date, right?”

Lister tried his best not to look disappointed. He knew that. Obviously, he knew that. “Of course,” he said quickly. “Nothing like that. Just a drink between friends.” Looking slightly more relaxed, Kochanski raised her glass in a small toast and took a sip. Lister did the same. “Besides, you’re still with Tim, right?”

Kochanski bit her lip. “Not exactly.”

_!!! _

Lister’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Oh?” he asked, though it came out as more of a squeak. “Then, uh…”

“I’m not with anyone else, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said quickly. “And I’m  _ not _ looking.” Her voice was firm. 

Faintly, disappointment twinged in Lister’s chest. “So you’re not seeing… or… talking to… anyone?” Who ever said leading questions were a bad thing?

But Kochanski’s answer was definite. “I’m not,” she said, and Lister felt his heart plummet. Did that mean she  _ wasn’t _ the girl in the letters? That she  _ wasn’t _ Dear Friend? Somehow, he felt duped. But that wasn’t her fault. If anything, it was his, for getting his hopes up. For wanting it to be her so badly that he’d concocted a whole rationale in his head to justify his belief. There was a part of him that wanted to get up and leave, to find Kryten and complain about his horrid luck.

But then again, just because Dear Friend wasn’t the girl he’d been in love with from the moment he laid eyes on her, didn’t mean all was over. No, it just meant that someone else on the ship, someone he actually didn’t know, harbored strong feelings for him instead. And even separating them from his projected fantasies of Kochanski, he felt the same. In fact, a lot of things started making  _ more _ sense now that he knew it wasn’t her.

But the main reason he let it go without complaint was that he was watching her face, and she still seemed lost in thought, almost worried about something. And regardless of her feelings for him, he still cared. He cared a hell of a lot. Those six weeks together may have been brief, but they’d had a real connection. He felt it, and so had she. So he decided to ignore the awkwardness of having drinks with your ex who you thought was also your secret lover. “You alright, Krissie?” he asked instead.

She smiled into her drink, shaking her head slightly, then looked up at him. “Yeah. Thanks, Dave, I am. I just… everyone keeps asking me why I’m not dating, and I tell them I’ve been trying to figure out some stuff about myself, but they don’t get it.”

Lister considered this. “Well… I get it,” he said, even though he didn’t  _ really _ , but he knew the feeling, at least a little.

“You do?” Her voice was hopeful, looking up at him with a sudden urgency.

“Well…” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Sort of, yeah. Everyone needs time to sort themselves out after a breakup. How long ago did you and Tim split?”

A guilty look crept over her face. “We actually never got back together.”

Lister’s brow furrowed. “But you said—”

“I know what I said.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I lied. It was easier to explain.”

Lister thought he probably should’ve been angry at that. If she hadn’t gone back to Tim, that meant she broke up with him just because she was tired of him, nothing more. And she’d lied to spare his feelings. Maybe that was her way of being nice. Either way, he didn’t have it in him to be upset. Not now.

“I mean,” he said, shrugging, trying to keep it nonchalant. “You could’ve just told me. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

“It wasn’t about you,” she said far too quietly for Lister’s comfort. He was beginning to think there was a lot more to this than he originally assumed. “I mean, I guess it sort of was, but it was mostly about me. I didn’t know how else to talk about it.” She still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and if this were a movie, he would’ve cupped her cheek and tilted up her chin and probably wiped a tear from her eye with his thumb and—

“I wasn’t attracted to you.”

Well. Fantasy moment over.

“Sorry, what?”

She cleared her throat. “I mean, listen Dave. I like you. I care about you. I do now, and I did then. All of that was real. But my feelings for you just… weren’t what you felt for me.”

Lister stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was getting at. 

“I wasn’t attracted to you because I don’t like men.” The words came out in a rush, so quick that Lister almost didn’t process them. 

“I—” he said, mouth charging ahead of his brain.

“I’m a lesbian,” Kochanski continued quickly. 

Lister’s jaw snapped shut. They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

“Sorry, I know that’s weird, I just—”

Lister laughed. Loudly, with his whole chest. “That’s all?” he asked, when he finally caught his breath, and Kochanski looked like she couldn’t decide whether to be angry or relieved. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “You’re not mad?”

He lifted his mug and downed the rest of the pint in one go. “Smeg, Kris, no. Of course not.”

She definitely looked relieved now. “I didn’t know, then. I hadn’t quite figured out what I was feeling. I just said I was back together with Tim because I thought it would be easier for both of us.”

Lister burped loudly, and grinned at her across the table. “This is the best news ever!”

Now she was back to looking suspicious. “Why?”

“Cuz,” he smirked. “Now we can talk about girls together.”

Kochanski’s shoulders sagged, the tension finally draining from her, and she smacked his shoulder. “David!”

He laughed. “What? I’m serious.” She just rolled her eyes. “For real though, I’m happy for ya, Kris. It’s gotta be hard coming out when you’re older. I was real young, probably twelve or thirteen, so I can’t imagine, but honestly, this is good. I’m proud of you.”

She blinked in surprise. “You?” 

“Oh yeah,” Lister said, tipping his chair back slightly. “I’m bi. I kinda thought everyone knew that.”

“Well, I always sort of suspected,” she said, smirking a bit. Lister, for all his efforts, could not figure out why that was making her so happy. “But you never mentioned it.”

“Never really felt the need to.” 

They lapsed into silence, her sipping at her cocktail a bit more, and him starting on his second pint. 

“You’re the first person I’ve told, you know,” Kochanski said after a moment. “Actually, I think this is the first time I’ve said it out loud.” 

Lister smiled, genuinely, and brightly. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand, and she let him, and he figured this was going to be okay, maybe. “Well, I’m honored,” he said. “How does it feel?”

“Really good.” 

“I’m glad.”

Another few moments of silence. Then Lister stood up. “Can I get you another drink?”

Kochanski shot him a grateful look and passed over her glass. “Please.”

Feeling like a real gentleman, he gave a low bow, which drew a soft giggle from her, and sauntered away to the bar. 

When he returned, she took her glass from him, and Lister raised his mug, clinking them together. “To not being straight!” They both laughed, and they both drank.

“So what about you, then?” Kochanski asked a little while later. “You’re not seeing anyone, are you?” There it was again, that smirk, and the mischievous look in her eye. “You and Rimmer aren’t…”

Lister nearly choked on his drink. “Rimmer? Holy shit. No. Oh god. No way.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Even if he  _ is _ gay — which I seriously doubt — there’s no well in hell I would ever sleep with that guy. He’s the worst.”

“I know,” Kochanski said, her tone still light with amusement. “You seriously don’t think he’s gay? I do.”

“You don’t live with him. You don’t hear the things he says about women. Kris, you would find a way to get him fired, I swear on me life.”

She laughed. “Well, if not Rimmer, who? Don’t tell me you don’t have  _ anyone _ .”

“Well, actually…” Lister said, before he could actually decide if telling her was a good idea or not. Her eyes lit up in interest, and he sighed. Too late to back out now. “There is someone.”

Kochanski clapped her hands together. “I knew it! Who are they? What are they like? Tell me all about them.”

Lister hesitated. “Well—”

“Are they tall?”

He shifted in his seat. “Uhh… so-so. I never really measured.”

“Hair color? Eye color?”

“Sandy hair? Not really light. Not really dark.”

Kochanski frowned slightly. “And the eyes…?”

“Blueish… greenish…” 

She leaned back, folding her arms over her chest. “Brownish?”

Lister stared at his drink. He was really starting to regret this. “A little.”

But two could play at this game. “Are they pretty? Or — handsome? Will you at  _ least  _ tell me their gender? Otherwise I’m going to start thinking they don’t exist at all, and you’re just making this up.”

“They’re just…” Lister was grasping at straws and missing by a mile. “Average,” he finished lamely.

Kochanski looked at him, deadpan. “Do you want my advice?” Lister said nothing. “Don’t lose them in a crowd.”

Lister reached for his mug, took a long drink, and slammed it on the table. “Why am I such an unconvincing liar?”

“So they don’t exist?” Kochanski asked, feigning surprise but not really sounding surprised at all. 

“No, no, they do!” he said quickly. “It’s just… I’ve never actually met them before.”

“Never?” 

“Nope. That’s why I can’t tell you anything about them. I’ve never even seen a picture. I don’t even know their name.”

“David.” Kochanski looked at him seriously. “So really, you’re just describing a blind date.”

“No!” he insisted, cheeks heating up. “It’s not like that, I — I know them.”

Kochanski took another long drink too. Lister didn’t really blame her. She was probably going to need it. “How?” she asked.

“Letters,” he admitted quietly, not sure why he was suddenly embarrassed about the fact. “Lots of letters. For months now.”

Kochanski couldn’t help it — she laughed. Immediately, she slapped a hand over her mouth, but the damage was done. Luckily, Lister didn’t look too mortified. “I’m sorry,” she said, still giggling under her breath. “I just — you’re part of a lonely hearts club? I didn’t even know there was one on Red Dwarf?”

Lister covered his face with his hands, speaking between his fingers. “I didn’t either. I stumbled across the station by accident one day, didn’t even know what it was all about, but it was shortly after you dumped me,” — they both looked slightly embarrassed at that — “and i saw the ad, and something about it just got my attention. Oh, it was stupid really. And I was definitely feeling the whole ‘lonely heart’ thing, so I just… responded.”

“They could be old!” Kochanski said, unable to shake the laugh.

“The ad said ‘young officer’,” Lister insisted. “Actually…” he looked down at the table. “I was pretty sure it was you for a while.”

She blinked. “Me?”

“I know, I know.” Lister groaned. “It was stupid. But we connected so well, so quickly. It felt like I had known them forever. And I think I  _ wanted _ it to be you, so I just sort of convinced myself it was.”

Kochanski’s smile in response was kind, even if it was laced with amusement. “I understand that. When did you realize it wasn’t me?”

Lister really wanted to sink into the floor. “Just tonight.” 

She laughed again, and this time he laughed with her.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy,” he said once they’d both caught their breath. “But it doesn’t matter that I don’t know their name, or what they look like, or anything. I just know, deep down, that they’re real special. I had no idea that I’d actually… I dunno, fall for them for real. Or that we’d get along so well. They tell me everything. Deepest feelings and fears…” He shrugged. “Do you get why I thought it was you?” 

“I do,” Kochanski said. 

“I don’t need to see them, or hear their voice, or anything like that. I couldn’t know them better if I knew their name.” He sighed. “I know them so well. I know that they’re smart, well-educated, gentle, kind… soft spoken… they like to have fun. I know all that about them, and so much more. It’s just… I’ve never actually met them. That’s all.” Lister looked at her seriously. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

Kochanski looked at him critically, thinking about that for a little too long for Lister’s comfort. “Yes,” she said finally. “And I worry that you’re going to get hurt. I don’t want you to get your heart broken again.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she kept going. “But I think it’s very brave of you to put yourself out there, and if you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

Lister sighed, and smiled. “I am.”

“Good.” She leaned across the table on her elbows. “Can I give you some advice, though?” Her eyes sparkled. “Meet them. In person. Soon. If they really mean that much to you, I think you should take the risk.”

“You really think so?”

“I really do.”

A few nights later, Rimmer sat hunched over his desk, his finest pen in hand and a timetable spread out in front of him.

_ Dear friend, _ _   
_ _ Have you set your calendar for Tuesday when we bring this chapter to a close? I can hardly believe that it’s almost time. Meeting you, my love of the letters, is by far the most exciting thing that has happened to me in all my years of service. This part of the voyage is always the longest, but even in the loneliness of space, I know I’ll have you there... _

The next morning, Lister stood outside the mailboxes, clutching a piece of paper with tiny, careful lettering to his chest, reading it over and over again.

_...with me, and that makes everything better. Our date still seems a lifetime away; I can hardly believe it’s almost here. But until then, count the hours... _

“Oh smeg, I’m late for work!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots to unpack here, huh??? Anyway, lesbian Kochanski is very important to me, as is her and Lister's friendship. Also, is it really a Red Dwarf fic if Rimmer's sexuality isn't debated at least once. Anyway, thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated. Find me on tumblr at [hardlightholography](http://hardlightholography.tumblr.com)!


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